From Peeta's Eyes
by SashaWren
Summary: You all know the Hunger Games rather well... but do you know it from Peeta's eyes? My interpretation of Peeta's thoughts throughout the books. I'll only be writing important events. PeetaXKatniss
1. The Girl

**A/N:** From my deviantART account, WrenTree. :B

Primrose Everdeen.

The name almost sickened Peeta as it resonated through the square of District 12, bouncing off screens and worried faces alike. He sucked in a breath, not daring to watch as the small girl, blonde braids draped in front of her shoulders as her blouse poked out in the back, walk down the center of the square toward the makeshift stage in front of the Justice Building. More than that, Peeta tried with all his might to not look to the section of 16-year-old girls. He didn't want to see the pained expression that always followed the misery, misfortune, embarrassment – anything – of Primrose Everdeen. Because everyone knew that the only person feeling as bad as, or worse than Prim was her sister, Katniss.

But no one knew that better than Peeta, besides maybe that stuck-up dark-haired boy Katniss was always seen with, Gale. Peeta had watched how every day, Katniss would wait for her younger sister after school, making her hold her hand as they ventured back to the Seam. He remembered watching as Katniss, while everyone else flooded to the doors, ran back to find Prim during both drills and non-drills. He even witnessed Prim asking Katniss if she could go sign up for tesserae and the heavy reprimanding she got from her sister for even considering such a thing, even though the older girl's name was already in the bowl twenty times. Katniss had done everything to keep Prim safe, all for nothing.

It all flooded Peeta's mind when Katniss shoved her way to the front (well, not so much shoved since people hurriedly moved out of her way) and yanked at Prim's delicate little body. She was going to do it. She was going to do the ultimate thing to protect her sister.

"I volunteer!" she called, voice strained. "I volunteer as tribute!"

That was when Peeta couldn't hold back the memories: his father talking about Mr. Everdeen's magnificent voice, Peeta hearing Katniss sing for the whole school, how he felt even at ten years old. But the most prominent memory was their first real interaction, when he was twelve.

His mother had been in a foul mood, not that she never was. Peeta had to stay up late making at least twenty loaves of raisin bread for the mayor – one of his favorites. He didn't mind so much; he enjoyed the smell of baking bread, the feel of warm loaves against his palms. But his mother could make it less enjoyable.

"Can you believe that?" She was going on about a customer while Peeta checked on the loaves in the oven. "Fifty cents for two cheese breads! Is he mad? I put a lot of hard work into making these bloody things." Peeta had left out his thoughts that he had been the one putting a lot of hard work into the bread.

The loaves were finished and the young boy pulled them out of the oven. He stoked the fire, readying it for another round of loaves. The ones that had finished baking he transported one by one to an iron pan.

"Good lord, those Seam brats." Peeta turned to see his mother opening the door to the back alley where the animals and gardens were. "Oi! Seam rat! I'll call the Peacekeepers on you! I'm sick and tired of those brats digging around in our trash bins."

Peeta got one good look at the "Seam rat" and his heart skipped a beat. It was her, that girl. The one who sang. She was a Seam girl, digging in trash cans for food to feed her whole family. And she was his age.

Suddenly working in the kitchen with a moody woman didn't seem so bad to Peeta.  
>The door slammed shut so hard that it reopened a smidge. Peeta took the chance to peer outside, watching as the girl stumbled toward a tree and collapsed at its trunk. She looked tired and cold in the pouring rain, and she was probably going back to the Seam empty-handed.<p>

"Peeta, stupid boy, that bread isn't going to bake itself!" his mother shouted and he shut the door. Then, without thinking, he snatched up two raisin breads and tossed them into the oven, a bit too close to the fire. One more nudge and…

"Peeta Mellark!" Peeta jumped, snatching the loaves right back. "Look at what you've done! They're completely blackened!" With one swift jerk, her palm made contact with his temple and he let out a small cry of pain. Before he could react, he was shoved back toward the door. "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread."

Peeta stood on the porch, eyes avoiding the girl's slumped figure. After a moment he stepped down toward the pigsty and tore off a chunk of bread. As he hurled the blackened dough to the pig, he heard the door to the kitchen shut. Casting a glance behind his shoulder, he chucked one loaf toward the girl; without waiting to see her reaction, he threw the second. With that, Peeta returned to the kitchen.

Only when he got back inside did Peeta realize how much his cheek hurt; the cool rain had soothed it temporarily and now that he was in the heat of the kitchen, the sting was only just bearable. But Peeta shoved the pain aside, just like the act he just put on for his mother, for the girl. For Katniss Everdeen.

And now, as Katniss stepped on stage to take her sister's place, Peeta had to push everything aside. Because she had gone further than ever this time to keep Prim alive and safe. She was a dead woman walking. And this time, Peeta couldn't do anything to help her.

"Peeta Mellark."

He had been daydreaming so much that he missed everything that was going on around him. He missed the whole of District 12 saying good-bye to Katniss by lifting their left hands and pressing three fingers to their lips and raising them. He missed Haymitch Abernathy's little "performance" and Effie Trinket's hasty reading of the boy tribute's name. It took him a moment to process.

Peeta Mellark. That was his name. What followed was a hierarchal series of thoughts: That meant he had to go up on stage now. That meant he was a tribute with Katniss, the girl he always took the time to watch closely in the hall. That meant he was going to the Capitol as District 12's male tribute. That meant he was a piece in the Hunger Games. And that meant that he, too, was a dead man walking.

But above all else, one thought kept swimming through Peeta's mind like a shark, waiting to prey on the last of his calm mentality: If he wanted to survive, Katniss would have to die.

He turned to the girl, really looking at her for the first time since Prim's name was called. She had her constant, emotionless expression on her face, but it was slightly tinged. Pain. She knew the following weeks would be torturous, and not just for her, but for her family too.

Peeta extended his hand and Katniss took it. While they shook, Peeta's hand twitched slightly, squeezing the girl's palm gently. Oh well. Hopefully she would think it was a reassuring gesture.


	2. Reasons

**A/N:** Thanks for the good response! I hope to keep going with these. :)

The room was cold. That was the first thing Peeta noticed when the Peacekeepers shut the door behind him, locking him in the room of the Justice Building. And Peeta paid no attention to the elaborate, plush carpets and velvet chairs. He only noticed the frigid air. It wasn't even that cold outside. It was as if the Peacekeepers wanted to make him feel as physically cold as he did emotionally.

He and Katniss Everdeen, fighting to the death in the annual Hunger Games. The prospect made his stomach churn with anxiety. The best he could hope for in this scenario was someone killing him or her before it got down to the two of them, because he couldn't bear the possibility of facing off with her.

Katniss: a Seam girl he barely knew, and he was absolutely certain that he'd rather die than kill her.

Suddenly the door opened, giving Peeta a start. A Peacekeeper stepped aside to reveal his mother and father, the latter holding a package of his famous cookies. But Peeta couldn't eat now. Surely his father knew that.

"Oh, my poor darling!" Mrs. Mellark cried, rushing toward her son with dramatic leaps. She collapsed down beside him on the couch, cradling his head in her arms. Peeta didn't stop her, but he didn't encourage her by returning the hug. He could hear it in her voice; part of her was all right with the reaping names.

His mother pulled away after a moment, wiping at nonexistent tears. "I'm so sorry, dear boy," she said, glancing up at her husband, who was still standing, the cookies in his hands. What followed was seemingly painful for the mother, since she shifted and messed with her stringy hair uncomfortably. She didn't know what to say. She didn't have anything to say to her son before he was carted off to the Capitol to fight to the death.

"At least District Twelve might finally have a winner," she said suddenly, tone raised in order to cheer Peeta up.

Peeta scoffed, not looking at his mother. There was no way he could win.

"She's a survivor, that one."

This stopped Peeta short. He looked at his mother, really looked at her, trying to read her exaggerated expression. She? Was she referring to Katniss, the same girl she scolded years ago in the rain for snooping around her trash bins? The same girl Peeta's father often spoke highly of whenever he fried up some of her squirrels, always waiting until his wife wasn't around?

The same girl who, by the way, wasn't even her child?

"I remember her father, the poor thing," Mrs. Mellark went on to say. After another moment of silence in which Peeta stared reproachfully at his mother, which she conveniently ignored, the woman got to her feet. "Ah, well. If we do have a winner, we'll all be rolling in riches, won't we?"

She gathered herself together, as if she'd been crying for hours. "I love you, son." With a kiss on Peeta's forehead, she turned to the door. The Peacekeeper seemed confused.

"Your time is not yet up, ma'am," he said quietly.

"I've a shop to attend to," the woman said curtly, and left her husband and son to talk in the cold room.

The baker took a seat on a velvet chair, the package of cookies resting on his lap. For a while they didn't say anything. Peeta knew his father wasn't talkative for these kinds of things, so he didn't press him.

"You can't kill her," the baker said after the silence, voice cracking slightly.

Peeta looked at him, eyes widened. He couldn't help the wall of tears building up behind his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he said incredulously. "Of course I can't kill her!" He was half-shouting, half-laughing. It was so preposterous. "Do you think I could kill anyone?" Now he was crying, the tears sliding silently down his cheeks. "I'm a baker. And beyond that, I haven't killed anything, not even our pigs, sheep, barely even a fly. That's always been Ryan's job."

"Then steel up," the baker said sternly, eyes smoldering beneath his stony expression. "If you're so certain you can't kill someone for yourself, then do it for her."

Peeta swallowed, tears still coming in quiet streams. "What?"

"Don't you dare make this all for nothing," his father said, voice becoming quiet again but with the same force. "You may not feel right killing others for no reason, so_find a reason_."

Peeta let a shudder course through his body as he contemplated his father's words. _Find a reason… do it for her… _The baker, his own father, was condoning Katniss' survival and not his own. For a moment Peeta wanted to cry, really cry, sob into the fluffy red pillow beside him. But as he pondered his father's words, he realized their true meaning: "Don't give up. Go out fighting and there's a chance you will survive." If he had the mentality to win, he would give up before the Games even started. But if he concentrated on keeping Katniss alive, there could be more of a reason for all of this.

"She can't know," Peeta said quietly. "If she knew that I was ready to die for her in the arena, she'd never let me get away with it."

The baker looked away in consideration. "Then just let her know that you're on her side," he said after a while. "Let her know that even though you're from District Twelve, you haven't given up. That will make her want to survive, too."

Peeta's eyes were in danger of welling up again. How was he going to keep Katniss alive? No one ever sponsored District 12. They hadn't had a winner in fourteen years.

"Give her the cookies," Peeta said suddenly. "Go tell her you'll look after Prim. Give her something to survive for, too." His father nodded. "And don't just say it, do it. Make sure Prim and her mother are healthy."

The baker looked at his son closely. "You need to take care, too," he said. "In order for Katniss to survive, you need to survive."

Then the Peacekeeper was at the door, motioning for the baker to leave. He stood, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "You can do this," he said simply. And with that, he left.

As soon as the door closed, Peeta finally gave in to what his body so yearned for: sobbing. He tried to muffle the sound with a pillow, but his body was racking so much that it wouldn't stay put.

No one else came. Peeta spent the rest of the hour crying on and off, strategizing on and off. How was he going to keep Katniss safe in the arena? What if she'd already had a plan to kill him, or worse, what if she'd already given up? His mind was racing with unanswered questions. Eventually, when the hour was over, he came up with the plan to make friends with Katniss during the pre-Games festivities so he could ensure that she wouldn't kill him right away.

The door reopened and a Peacekeeper stepped inside. He corralled Peeta into the rusty old elevator and out of the Justice Building, all the way to the train station. Camera crews from the Capitol were there to capture pictures and footage of his raw face, but he didn't care. Maybe if Katniss saw that he'd been crying, she'd feel obliged to go easy on him.

Peeta met up with Katniss on the train platform. She seemed fine, bored even. He wondered what his father had said to her. She was carrying the package of cookies, so at least she accepted his kindness. But Peeta also noticed something else: a beautiful gold pin fastened to the collar of her dress. It was a bird in flight, but that was all he saw of it before they stepped into the train, doors closing behind them.

Only then did it occur to him that he would never see District 12 or his family again.


	3. Girl On Fire

**A/N**: This one is a lot like the book, with some obvious quotes pulled right from the opening ceremonies scene. I didn't write them, Suzanne Collins did. :)

"What do you think?" Katniss whispered. "About the fire?"

Truth be told, Peeta thought Portia was insane, just as insane as any other Capitol maniac he'd encountered, when the stylist told him about the fire. Synthetic or not, the prospect of being lit on fire right before entering a street crowded with thousands of people made his stomach queasy. The funny part was, he probably would've been more okay with the fire if not for the crowd.

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," he said through gritted teeth.

"Deal," Katniss said. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

Peeta couldn't help wondering why Haymitch had given them the order to not interfere with the stylists' inspiration. What was wrong with a little tribute-opinion? Portia had said that she and Cinna, Katniss' stylist, wanted to make them recognizable but radiant.

"Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" said Peeta.

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," Katniss murmured.

Peeta laughed, really laughed for the first time since his name was drawn in District 12's square. He was laughing at Katniss' comment, yes, but he was really laughing at everything. Everything he had done since the chat with his father had been to convince Katniss of not giving up. When the tribute train reached the Capitol, he had waved and smiled at the citizens as they gawked at their appearance. All he was trying to do was give off the impression that all hope was not lost. He wanted to get the idea in Katniss' head that she had to fight, had to try and stay alive.

Suddenly the doors slid open. Peeta's stomach plunged downward and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn't even believe his own stage-fright when he remembered his father's words: _Then steel yourself._So Peeta clenched his fists and took a deep breath. From now on, he wouldn't be this nervous.

Before he knew it, Cinna was stepping up to them, a lit torch in his hands. But Peeta fought back the wave of anxiety. Nervousness would make him seem weak, and Katniss couldn't see him that way.

"Here we go then," Cinna said, putting the torch to Katniss' and then Peeta's cape. He bit his lip fiercely, waiting for a wave of heat. When it didn't come, he relaxed slightly. Maybe Portia wasn't so crazy.

After Cinna illumined their headdresses with the synthetic fire, he let out a sigh of relief. "It works." Then he gently tucked a hand under Katniss' chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

Peeta smiled at Katniss' expression. Cinna was cheering her on, and she seemed to appreciate it. _At least I'm not alone, _he thought.

When Cinna left the chariot, he spun on his heel and called something up to the tributes. Peeta only barely made out what he said: "Hold hands!"

"What's he saying?" Katniss asked. Peeta looked at her and almost gasped, taking in the flickering fire above her head. But mostly, taking in how the firelight played across her features, making her seem more beautiful than ever. If that was possible.

_Recognizable but radiant,_he thought.

And incredibly radiant she was.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," said Peeta. He grabbed her right hand in his left, and they looked to Cinna for confirmation. He nodded and gave a thumbs-up, and that was the last thing Peeta saw before they entered the city.

Suddenly Peeta's decision to shove away all thoughts of anxiety vanished. He braced himself in front of the roaring crowd, gripping Katniss' hand with such intensity he was sure she was thinking about how weak he was being.

Until he heard what the crowd was roaring about.

"District Twelve! District Twelve!" Wait a minute. That was his district, wasn't it? He looked to his left, to his right, everywhere; everyone was shouting chants of District 12, Katniss, Peeta. They were on fire, in more than one sense of the phrase. And Peeta loved it. He let a smile warm up his face, gazing out at the crowd with a little more confidence. He lifted a hand to wave a couple times, the praise and cheering buoying him.

And Katniss was basking in the glory, too. Peeta spared a glance at her to see her blowing a kiss to the crowd, still shining beneath her fiery headdress. Peeta almost thought he wouldn't be able to tear his eyes away from her until he caught sight of a large television screen above their heads, displaying their brilliant entrance. But even then his eyes immediately went to the girl on fire beside her; he no longer cared about the crowd or himself. Katniss was beaming, glowing. She was soaking it all up, seemingly trying her best to win herself some sponsors.

Then it occurred to him. Sponsors. There was literally no way he could possibly gain sponsors for Katniss. That was something she had to do on her own. He supposed he would just have to continue giving her that winning spirit. That was all he could really do until the Games.

When the City Circle came into view, Katniss began to loosen her grip on Peeta's hand. Almost too quickly, Peeta said, "No, don't let go of me. Please. I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay," Katniss replied, holding on tight.

Peeta wasn't sure why he had said that. After his newfound confidence, he was sure he could hold his own in the chariot. But something about the way Katniss held his hand made him want to cherish the moment… No, that made him feel silly. Here he was, ready to do anything to keep Katniss alive, including letting himself die. He couldn't go loving her at this point in the game.

This made Peeta stop and think. _Do I lover her? _he thought. The initial feelings were always there, but was it even more than that? He let the question slip by unanswered, afraid he wouldn't like the response. Even so, all throughout President Snow's speech and the national anthem, Peeta can't help his eyes flitting over to Katniss every now and then. At least there was an upside to all of this. Loving the girl meant that he would stop at nothing to keep her alive.

Suddenly the chariot made one final loop around the City Circle and headed for the tower that was the Training Center. Once they were safe behind the doors if the building, Portia came by to extinguish their flames. Peeta didn't even notice the dirty looks from the other tributes. He was too concentrated on Katniss' fingers still intertwined with his. He thought too soon, because Katniss released her iron grip and massaged her hand gently. Peeta did the same, trying not to feel as crestfallen as he did.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," he said.

"It didn't show," Katniss replied. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he said. "They suit you." They did suit her. Too bad synthetic fire was only something you could find in the Capitol.

Then Katniss did the unexpected. She leaned toward Peeta and gave him a small kiss on the cheek, right on top of the bruise Haymitch had given him on the train. She walked away swiftly, braid whipping around as she spun on her heel.

And just like that, Peeta knew he was a goner.


End file.
